


Drabbles

by ReineDesPapillons



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-08 08:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15239193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReineDesPapillons/pseuds/ReineDesPapillons
Summary: If you see something you like here and want it to become a larger story, leave a comment and let me know!





	1. The Stranger

“Hey, we caught a kid tryin’ to sneak off with some of our supplies. He’s obviously not a local. What do you want us to do with him, Argent?” 

Chris grimaced. He had been hoping for a quiet day, and his side was still killing him from two days earlier, when he struggled to take down a stag that wasn’t willing to die without a fight. If it had been anyone else, he would have responded with a simple two words, condemning the thief to death. But he had a daughter upstairs, and he figured someone might want their son back. “Just bring him to me.” He pressed his palm against his ribs and stood, trying to ignore the crackle of static that aggravated him like nothing else. His perimeter guards were good guys, but Isaac had a bad habit of clicking away at his ‘talk’ button when he got bored. No amount of the other guards smacking him around had done the trick to break him of it. 

It took fifteen minutes for the interloper to be brought to his door, and Chris had used that time to swallow a few painkillers and get himself a cup of coffee. 

“Okay, we’re here, you can let go of me now.” The teenager scowled, swearing at the guards when they casually threw him down into the dirt. 

“Get back to your posts.” Chris knew that he didn’t have to say it, but he was still the primary authority figure in the camp, and he didn’t want anyone to think too much about their own autonomy. When they were gone, he regarded the teen, who had stubbornly stayed down. “Get up. Come with me. You try to attack me from behind, you won’t see sunrise. Do you have a name?” 

The teen’s jaw clenched as he stood up and tried to brush dirt off of his clothes. It was a lost cause. After a few extra seconds of silence, while he followed Chris into the house, he spoke. “Garfield.” 

“Like the cat?” Chris scoffed, pulling a chair out and gesturing for him to sit down. He was tall enough to be in his late teens, if he was a teenager at all. Chris was pretty sure that his guards had gotten it wrong. The guy’s light brown eyes gave away his fear and anger, and Chris decided to try to be nice. He understood those feelings all too well. 

“Every name is a valid name, you dick. And it’s after the president, not the cat.” 

“Bold, considering I could just shoot you right now and I’d be within my rights. You’re the trespasser here, _Garfield_. Work with me a little, and I’ll help you get out of here and back to your own camp. Make things more difficult for me, you’re only making them harder for yourself. What did you try to steal?” 

Garfield sighed. “Alcohol.”

“Big plans to have a party with your friends?” Chris prodded. He stood up, his teeth clenched to hold back the grunt of pain that would give him away as being an easy target. He poured Garfield (even though he was certain that was a bullshit alias) a cup of coffee and set it down in front of him. 

Garfield eyed the drink skeptically, sniffing at it before he picked it up and took a sip. “No.” 

“You’re not the most trusting person, are you?” Chris remarked. 

“You’ve threatened to kill me twice. What do you expect me to do, exactly?” Garfield turned the cup around in his hands, tapping his foot on the floor impatiently. 

“Okay, that’s a fair point. You could tell me how old you are, maybe?” Chris glanced up at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, hoping that Allison would stay out of the kitchen.

“Thirty.” Garfield smirked, silently daring Chris to object to the lie. 

“Listen, kid.” Chris shook his head. “I’m really all out of patience for this. Tell me something true or I’ll turn you back over to the guards. I won’t lose any sleep over it.” 

Garfield relaxed his shoulders, sighing. “Okay. My name isn’t Garfield. It’s Jackson. And no, I’m not just naming off politicians, it’s my actual name. Also, obviously, I’m not thirty. I’m twenty-one. Not that the rules apply, when it comes to drinking age.” 

Chris nodded slowly. “Thank you for being honest.” 

Jackson gave him a tired smile in return and drank more of the coffee in front of him. “So, you’re going to let me go now, right?” 

“I don’t think so.” Chris shook his head. “I think we’ll put you to work for the next day or two, then let you go. First, you should try to get some sleep. It’s late and we get up early to get started on maintaining the camp. There are animals to feed and floors to sweep. Things to build or rebuild. You’re not going to be bored, while you’re here.” 

“We have a guest?” Allison asked from the doorway. 

Jackson turned, studying Allison for a few seconds too long before he got to his feet, holding a hand out to her. “Hey. I’m Jackson. Nice to meet you.” 

Allison grinned. “Allison.” She shook his hand. 

Chris closed his eyes for a second, rethinking his decision not to shoot the younger man. “Allison is my daughter. I don’t think you’re a stupid person. Don’t prove me wrong. Allison, show him where he’ll be sleeping. In a guest room.” As soon as they were gone from view, he gripped his side, wondering if his rib was cracked or had gone all the way to broken. Nausea had him stumbling toward the sink, and he needed a few minutes of shallow breathing to be able to stand up straight and get himself to his own bedroom. He thought back on how things had ended up this way as he changed out of his jeans. He didn’t dare try to lift his arms over his head, to remove his shirt. When Allison was ten, vampires became a known species. After a few months, werewolves did the same thing. The United States fell apart, due to territory disputes. Chris had been lucky enough to keep up with a hunter network, and what was left of them resided inside his territory. More than once, some idiot with fangs tried to break in, and they suffered for it. But for the most part, the communities left each other alone. At least he could be certain that Jackson wasn’t a werewolf or a vampire. The wolfsbane and garlic blend in the coffee had seen to that, and the younger man hadn’t protested the use of either, so he must have known other hunters. Chris chose to see that as a good sign. 

<><><><><><>

Chris woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs, cooking in the kitchen. He got out of bed, feeling like something was strange as he got dressed and left his bedroom. He was seated at the table before he realized that his rib wasn’t giving him any trouble. Instinctively, he reached up to touch his neck as he eyed the younger man, his mind wandering. 

Jackson laughed openly. “I didn’t bite you.” He set a plate down in front of Chris. “Eat. You’re going to have to show me around, today. I won’t be able to get anything done, otherwise.” 

“I watched him make it.” Allison spoke up from the other side of the table. “It’s all perfectly safe to eat. And it’s really good.” 

Jackson winked at Allison, then sat down with his own plate. 

“Okay, hold on.” Chris protested. “You’re still a prisoner here, you’re not free to cook my food and use my plates without my permission.” 

“I think I am.” Jackson smirked. He got up, walking around behind Chris and putting his hands on the man’s shoulders. 

Pain flared in Chris’ side, and he cried out from the sudden onslaught of it, gasping for breath. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?” 

“I only asked for a gallon of alcohol.” Jackson said calmly. “You have so much, but you couldn’t spare that? You and your people are greedy. You won’t give, so I’m going to take. I’ll start with your food and your home. Your daughter.” 

Even though Chris couldn’t see him, he could practically hear the man smiling. 

“I’ll take the whole territory. I’ll even take lives. You should have just let me walk away, but no. You shouldn’t have threatened to kill me, but you did that, too. And twice? Christopher, you should be ashamed of yourself.” 

“Dad?” Allison looked worried. 

“Relax, Allison.” Jackson murmured. “You were kind to me, so I’m not going to do anything to hurt you. When I said I was going to take you, I didn’t say by force. You’re free to make your own choices, but I think, in time? You’ll choose to be with me.” 

“What would it take to make you stop?” Chris blurted. 

Jackson patted Chris’ shoulder and circled back around the table to sit at the place he had been, before. “If you let me finish my breakfast, I’ll take what I can carry and leave here, and you’ll never see me again. That pain in your ribs will be gone. I’ll heal you. Allison can come with me, or not. That’s her decision. But if she does, she won’t be back, either.” 

“Jackson, why would I go with you?” Allison wiped tears out of her eyes, shaking her head. “You just threatened to kill my dad and everyone I know.” 

“I didn’t threaten to kill your dad.” Jackson corrected. “I could hardly do that while I’m protesting him doing that to me, right? Besides, it’s more fun to think of him being alone and in pain. The last survivor of this place he built.” He took a bite of his eggs, chewing and swallowing. “Also, my name isn’t Jackson. Anyway, those are your choices. Show me around and let me take over, killing everyone except the two of you, or let me have a measly gallon of alcohol and whatever other supplies I can carry, and I’ll leave and never return.” 

“Who are you?” Allison asked quietly. 

“That’s not part of our deal.” Jackson, or whoever he was, shook his head in disappointment. 

Chris was surprised to see Allison actually look contrite. “What else do you want?” He asked warily. 

“A few blankets, some medical supplies, and a dozen eggs. You let me have that much, I’ll tell everyone how great you guys are and I’ll never come back. Trust me, you need the boost in reputation. You’ve walled yourselves off and you’re not paying attention to the rest of the world, but they’re sure as hell paying attention to you.”


	2. Boarding School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles feels lost as he prepares to attend boarding school. His roommate, Peter Hale, isn't helping matters.

Stiles carried a duffel bag down a long hallway, darting around a few other teenagers as he tried to keep up with the brunette girl who had been tasked with showing him around. “Sorry!” He called out to her. “I feel like I missed a lot of information. You should probably have waited for me before you just kept right on going. I didn’t even get your name or anything.” 

“I didn’t give it to you.” The senior smiled. “But fine. It’s Laura. This is your room.” She gestured to the door labeled ‘219’ and held out a packet of papers. “As soon as you put your stuff down, you’re going to want to go back downstairs, to talk to the guidance counselor about your schedule and get your uniforms and books from the school store. You’re also going to have to submit to a medical exam, but it shouldn’t take too long. Dinner is in the cafeteria, from six p.m. until eight p.m. Curfew is ten, lights out at eleven. Anything else you need to know, you’ll learn soon enough. Okay?” 

Stiles nodded, even though he still had a dozen more questions. 

“Great.” Laura unlocked the door, handing his key to him. “Bye, freshman.” She grinned at him and walked away. 

Stiles opened the door and eyed the room. On either side, there was a single bed, a dresser, a mini-fridge and a desk. The other side of the room was obviously in use, with books and movies in a row along the top of the dresser, and a laptop on the desk. He let his duffel bag drop onto the free bed, eyeing the packet of papers before he set it on his own desk. He rubbed his sore shoulder and put his key into his pocket, then eyed his roommate’s mini-fridge. He walked across the room and crouched, opening it to see what sort of drinks were inside. 

“That’s mine.” 

Stiles fell backward, landing on his butt on the floor. “I was going to leave money for whatever I took.” He blurted, glancing up at his roommate. He was transfixed for a few seconds by blue eyes and a smirk. 

“Go ahead and take something. One thing. After that, you’re on your own. I trust I won’t have to get a padlock?” 

“You won’t.” Stiles got a bottle of water and closed the door to the appliance, then sat down on his bed. “I’m supposed to go downstairs, to get a few things?” 

“Uniform, books, schedule and medical.” The other teen laughed. “Are you asking me for help?” 

“No. I mean, unless you want to help me. Whatever your name is.” Stiles gave his roommate a pointed look. 

“Peter Hale. I’m Laura’s uncle, although she’s three years older than me. Let’s just say that my sister loves to get an early start on everything. And you’re Stiles, of the almost-unpronounceable first name. I think you can handle this all by yourself. Just follow the crowd of people who look as lost as you do.” He smiled. “I’ll see you at ten o’clock.” As he spoke, he rested a hand on Stiles’ back and guided him across the room, to the doorway. He pushed Stiles into the hall and shut the door in his face. 

“Great.” Stiles muttered. “Thank you!” He called through the door. “Freaking asshole.” He glanced down at the bottle of water in his hand, then twisted the cap off and took a drink.


	3. Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You might not want to read this one. Implied major character death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having a bad week. *shrug*

It’s the kind of thing you think you can handle, until you can’t. You help _create_ a person and suddenly, you have no idea how you existed without them around. Years pass - ten, twenty, thirty - and there are kids of their own and you’re seeing lines on your face and gray in your hair, and you could have sworn you were just graduating high school, there’s no way you’re old enough to be a grandparent. All of the years in between feel like nothing, and your back hurts when you get up and when you sit down, and all of the times in between. You hear creaking and think it’s the door, but it’s not. It’s you.

Once upon a time, you were given a chance to prolong your life, to have another ten, twenty, thirty years before your hair went gray and your face had creases. You said no. You know there was a reason, but you’ll be damned if you can think of what that reason was, these days. 

The grandkids get older, and so do you. People you know are getting their pictures in the newspaper, and it’s not for a good reason. Not to your way of thinking, at least. You think of Death and the woman you knew. You are certain that you called her Death’s Cousin, sometimes. On a good day, you can remember her name. On a great day, you can remember your own. 

All that matters is


End file.
